


all the glory when you ran outside

by whitchry9



Series: all the glory when you ran outside [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Based on a song, Boys Kissing, Cancer, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Hospice, Hurt/Comfort, Jack doesn't die, Kid Fic, Kissing, M/M, Medical, Present Tense, Surgery, Underage Kissing, Young Love, precanon, that's as far as it goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Matt is thirteen years old, he breaks his leg. Turns out it's cancer. (Radioactive materials can have that effect.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goldenrod and the 4H stone

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/3230.html?thread=6143390#cmt6143390&  
> which is based on a song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxMYqsvgX8c
> 
> Technically, the song contains spoilers.

When Matthew Murdock is ten years old, recently blinded and adjusting to a world that seems infinitely larger than it had before, his father is told to throw a fight. For a brief moment, Jack Murdock considers not throwing it, to prove to his son that he is a winner.

But that's all it is, a consideration.

 

Because Jack Murdock throws the fight against Creel, he isn't gunned down within earshot of his son. Jack makes it home that night, and although Matt is disappointed that he lost, he will never know a world without his father, where he goes to an orphanage and is trained by a blind old man who is waiting for a war that may never come.

So Jack threw the fight and won the money. It makes a world of difference for him and his son, getting them a nicer apartment in a different school district, one with an arts program.

 

It's there that Matt meets Foggy on the first day of fifth grade.

 

They become fast friends, and Foggy doesn't think he's weird because he's blind. Soon they become known as Matt&Foggy, like a unit.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Matt is thirteen, and he and Foggy have just started grade eight, Matt breaks his leg jumping off the swing.

Except he didn't hear a crack when he fell, and it's something he's done so many times before that he can't believe one wrong jump would cause it to snap.

He doesn't tell anyone that though, and lets the teachers fuss over him, and call his father, who rushes over and carries him into a cab and then into the hospital.

 

After a set of x-rays, they're told something seems abnormal, and another doctor is called in to speak with them.

It's then that they're told the only reason Matt's bone broke was because it was weakened by a tumour.

(Later they'll find out it's stage IIA, meaning it's high grade, but has yet to spread. Yet. Like it's inevitable. Maybe it is.)

 

Officially, the doctors say the cancer is a common childhood cancer. With the way Matt has been growing, some of the cells got confused and stopped behaving like they were supposed to. Officially, it is nothing more than another case for oncology.

Unofficially, Jack researches how radiation can cause cancers, and how people treated with radiation treatment for one cancer could develop another, years later.

Matt knows that his father thinks this, because he hears him arguing with people on the phone.

 

Matt still hasn't told his father about the things he can do. He's not entirely sure his father would believe him. Sometimes he doesn't even know if he can believe himself.

 

Sometimes he wishes there was someone to teach him how to make it all stop, because it's so much, too much. (After some research, he self diagnoses with a sensory processing disorder, because it's the closest thing that exists to whatever he is, and starts meditating.)

 

Foggy visits him the night before his surgery, after the MRI and CT scan show that the tumour can likely be removed without having to amputate the leg. But the surgeon also told Matt that they couldn't be sure until they were in there and saw it.

Matt doesn't tell Foggy that he could wake up from the anesthetic and find a part of himself gone. He also doesn't tell Foggy that he can hear the way his heart is pounding and his palms are sweating and how he desperately wants to say something but can't make the words come out.

 

“I brought flowers,” Foggy says instead. “Yellow ones. My mom told me to. I don't know why. I'll just... put them over here I guess,” he continues, sort of throwing them on a bedside table.

“Goldenrod?” Matt asks, sniffing them. He's pretty sure that's what they are.

Foggy shrugs. “I shrugged,” he adds.

Matt shrugs back and wonders if he's going to say the thing that's on his mind now.

“We made you a card,” he blurts out, and holds it out for Matt. “I thought it was kind of stupid, because you can't see it, but by the time we started it was too late.”

He holds the card back down, realizing that Matt can't see he's holding it out.

“Read it to me,” Matt suggests, shuffling over on the bed so there's room for Foggy beside him.

Foggy sits down carefully, like Matt will break easily. It might be true, since he still has the splint on his leg to prove it, but Matt doesn't want to be treated like he's glass. That was something Foggy never did, even when they first met.

 

“He made everyone sign it,” Foggy tells him, and he's close enough that Matt can almost feel his heartbeat jumping through his skin.

“Even Marci?” Matt asks, amused.

Foggy scoffs. “She doesn't actually hate you, you know.”

“I know,” Matt agrees. “She just really likes to pretend she does. Have you asked her out yet?”

Foggy sputters for a moment, and Matt grins.

“Shut up Murdock,” he finally says. “Brett drew you something, but I can't tell what it is. He pressed hard enough that you could probably feel it though, here,” he says, guiding Matt's fingers to the page.

 

Matt doesn't tell him that he probably could have told what it was even if Brett hadn't pressed so hard.

“Is it... some kind of fruit? It's got a pit I think.”

“Oh god,” Foggy groans. “It's green. I think he drew an avocado. It's just terrible though. Oh, also Bess says she's going to make you a cake for after your surgery.”

“Of course she is. She's a lovely woman,” Matt says diplomatically.

“That doesn't change the fact that Brett is still kind of a dick,” Foggy replies.

“Foggy,” Matt sighs.

“Yeah, sorry. Anyway, most of the other stuff in here is pretty generic. 'Get well soon,' 'Hope you get a cool cast that I can sign,' blah blah.” Foggy shifts in the bed a bit, and he ends up with his arm pressing against Matt's. It's nice.

“Are you even going to get a cast?”

Matt shrugs. “I think they might pin the bone after they take the tumour out,” he says, and doesn't mention how the entire thing might be a non issue if they take his whole leg off.

Foggy nods. “Cool. I think. You'll be like a cyborg.”

Matt grins. “Yeah,” he considers. “I suppose I could be.”

Foggy shifts again, and more of his body presses against Matt.

“Are you scared?” he asks.

“A little,” Matt admits. “I think my dad is more worried than I am though.”

“Parents do that,” Foggy said sagely. Matt swats him.

“Where is your dad anyway?” Foggy asks, brushing Matt's hand off like a tiny insect.

“The chapel, I think,” Matt tells him. He could probably hear his father whispering prayers if he concentrated hard enough, but some things were between his father and God, and even he shouldn't get in the middle of that.

Foggy hums.

 

Matt listens as Foggy tries to say something for another few minutes, until he finally gets it out.

“You're not going to die, right?” he blurts out, heart racing furiously after he says it. Matt can feel the blush.

“Are you kidding? I plan to live forever. We're gonna be lawyers, remember?”

He holds his fist out. Foggy was the one who taught him to fist bump.

Foggy seems reluctant, but bumps Matt's fist back, gently.

“I'm not going to break,” Matt huffs.

“Umm, you kind of already did,” Foggy points out.

“Cause that's where the tumour is. No tumours anywhere else. Therefore no breaking anywhere else.”

“You will make a good lawyer,” Foggy agrees.

“We will,” Matt corrects.

“Murdock and Nelson,” Foggy agrees.

“Nelson and Murdock. Sounds better,” Matt smiles. His father has left the chapel and will probably be back soon.

Matt shifts on the bed slightly, hissing as he moves his leg.

“Oh, jesus,” Foggy mutters, hopping off the bed. “I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Matt assures him, but it had the desired effect, because when his dad walks in a moment later, it's not to the sight of him and Foggy sharing a tiny hospital bed.

 

“Hi Franklin,” Matt's dad says. He sounds tired.

“Foggy,” he corrects.

“Yeah, and I'll call you Foggy when you stop calling me Mr Murdock and just call me Jack.”

Foggy makes a face.

Matt smirks at both of them.

“What's that?” his dad asks, probably referring to the card.

“The class made me a card,” Matt says, running his fingers over it. “Brett drew something. Foggy says it's green, and it feels like it has a pit, so I think it's supposed to be an avocado.”

“Like the fruit? Why?”

Matt shrugs, and off to the side, Foggy grins.

 

There are some things his dad doesn't need to know.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Foggy leaves shortly after that. Matt is left with his dad, and even that is uncomfortable. Neither of them know what to say.

“You should go home,” Matt tells his dad.

“And leave you here alone? I don't think so.”

Matt knows his dad is tired. He can hear it in the way he moves his body, the way he sits, even the way he breathes.

Matt also knows that his dad works two jobs just to make ends meet, because even though he got all that money from betting against himself, much of it is invested in their apartment. The rest has been tucked it away in a bank account under Matt's name. It's supposed to be his college fund.

Of course none of that will matter if the cancer that's growing inside him strangles him before he reaches college.

 

“I'm tired,” Matt lies. “I'm going to go to sleep soon, and then you'll have to leave or look weird.”

His dad scoffs. “They couldn't make me leave if they tried.”

“You're going to knock out some well meaning nurses?” Matt retorts.

Jack sighs. “No.”

“Go home. I'm pretty much an adult now,” he says proudly, because he's thirteen and being a teenager is almost the same thing.

“Sure, I'll start charging you rent then,” his dad replies, ruffling his hair before getting to his feet. “I'll be back in the morning Matty,” he adds, kissing the top of his head. Matt allows it only because of the circumstances.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

His dad pauses in the doorway.

“Seriously, go away.”

He laughs, but Matt can finally hear his footsteps going down the hall, his heartbeat growing fainter.

 

Matt waits until he can't hear them at all anymore before he shifts onto his side as much as the splint on his leg allows, and cries into his pillow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a large portion of this written, but not all of it, and I'm still not sure how many chapters there will be.


	2. When I found out you had cancer of the bone

Matt is confused when he wakes up and can't see anything.

In fact, it's the first thing he says when someone, probably a nurse, tries talking to him.

“Can't see,” he says stupidly.

“Matthew, you're blind. Do you remember that? You had surgery on your leg.”

Matt frowns. He can't tell where he is. He can't tell where his hands are. Maybe they're gone.

He lifts them up to make sure.

Yep, definitely there. He just can't see them.

The nurses pushes them down on the bed.

“Matthew, just relax. Do you know where you are?”

He frowns. That's a stupid question. “I can't see,” he tells her.

“I understand that. Do you remember where you are though?”

He probably should. He knows that much.

He listens for a minute. There's... beeping. And a nurse. “Hospital,” he says proudly.

“Yes Matthew, you're in the hospital. Your surgery went well. Are you in any pain?”

Matt remembers the surgery. The cancer, his leg. He tries to find his hands again to feel his leg, because he sure can't feel it if it's not there.

The nurse wasn't prepared for him to start wiggling so much, and misses as she tries to grab him. Matt is still adjusting to not being able to see where his hands are in relation to his leg, or absence of it, to be sure.

 

It's still there. Toes, ankle, everything. Wrapped up with about an inch thick of gauze, but it's still there.

 

Matt thinks he laughs with relief. He's not sure. He thinks the nurse might have slipped something in his IV while he was groping around for phantom limbs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You're gonna have a great scar,” Foggy says, admiration clear in his voice. “Chicks dig scars.”

“Just like they dig blind guys?” he retorts.

“Yeah. You're gonna be a double threat.”

Foggy's heart beat increases a bit as he says it. Matt ignores it and drags his fingers down the wound on his thigh. He's probably not supposed to be touching it yet, but he can't see it, and he's dying of curiosity. The surgeon took the drain out the previous day, so it can't be that bad, right?

He can feel the staples holding his skin together, can feel how the skin is puckered and swollen. He shivers slightly and pulls the bandage back over it. Maybe some things shouldn't be seen.

“Do you have a lot of experience with chicks and scars?” Matt asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you horribly disfigured and just forgot to tell me? Are you holding out on some cool scars, like one across your eye or something?”

“Oh come on Matt, you know I don't.”

Matt levels what he hopes is a pointed look in Foggy's direction. He's quiet for a minute.

“Okay, actually I guess you don't know. I never really thought of that.”

“Sometimes I'm not even sure what my dad looks like anymore. If he's changed. I mean, he definitely has, obviously, but I just don't know how much.”

“What about the face touching thing?” Foggy asks.

“What about it?”

“Well, can that help you figure out what someone looks like?”

Probably not any more than the air currents flowing around them can.

“Maybe,” he says finally.

Foggy is about to say something, he's just getting ready to open his mouth when Matt's dad comes back in.

 

“Hello Foggy.”

“Hi Jack,” Foggy says pointedly.

“Wow, look at you two getting along,” Matt mutters.

“I've got to go. My mom said she'd be here by now, which means she's probably been waiting for ten minutes. See you tomorrow?”

Matt nods. “I think I'm going home the day after. As soon as I start chemo,” he adds, making a face.

“That sucks. I'll see you later though.”

Matt can tell that he waves as he leaves the room, and he can't help but smile.

 

Matt's dad waits until Foggy is out of earshot before speaking. “You start chemo tomorrow. You know that. Why didn't you tell him?”

Matt shrugs. “I didn't want him to worry or get weird about it.”

“He's your best friend,” Jack points out.

Matt only shrugs again.

 

His dad sighs, sits down, waits.

“You in pain?” he asks finally.

“No,” Matt lies. It's not that bad.

His dad hums and opens a book.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Matt understands why he feels awful. He understands why his hair is going to fall out and he's going to lose weight and everything will hurt and he won't be able to keep food down without medication. The doctors are putting toxic chemicals inside his body in the hopes that they will kill off only certain cells. Except they're not that specific, so they just mainly target the fast growing cells of the tumour, and other fast growing cells get caught in the crossfire.

 

But the science of it is one thing, and the reality is another.

 

“Wow,” Foggy says. “You look... awful. No offense.”

Matt groans. “None taken.”

“Your dad said that you started chemo. He also didn't seem happy to see me.”

Matt shrugs. “He doesn't like seeing me like this.”

“And you think I do?” Foggy asks. “Sorry,” he adds immediately.

Matt shrugs again. His stomach is somewhat on edge, despite the nausea medication he'd been given.

“Why didn't you tell me you started today?” Foggy asks quietly. “Did you not want me to come? Did you think I wouldn't notice?”

“I hoped you wouldn't,” Matt admits. “I was hoping it wouldn't be that big of a deal. And I didn't want to worry you.”

“Oh my god,” Foggy groans. “That's something old people say. You, Matt Murdock, are an old person. Before you know it you'll be banging your cane around and yelling at kids to get off your lawn.”

“I do already have a cane,” Matt said thoughtfully. “But finding a place with a lawn in Hell's Kitchen would be hard.”

“You could always move to a different neighbourhood.”

“Nah,” Matt dismisses, waving a hand. “I'm never going to leave. I love it.”

Foggy's quiet for a minute, possibly thinking of the implications of that statement.

“Guess you'll have to find a balcony then,” he says finally.

“Yeah,” Matt agrees.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs for this fic include (surprise) Casimir Pulaski Day by Sufjan Stevens, and Neptune by Sleeping at Last.


	3. In the morning, through the window shade

Apparently he's deemed recovered enough two days after his first round of chemo to go home. He's not allowed to walk on his leg without crutches yet, so he's not sure what the point is.

His next round of chemo is for a week and a half later, which will be given as an outpatient.

 

After nearly two weeks in the hospital, Matt finally gets to go home.

 

He missed the smell of the city. That awful smell of burning and garbage and pollution mixed with body odour and the things people were selling from carts.

God, he missed it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn't go back to school. Because of the chemo, his immune system is weakened, and he's already missed more than two weeks. Between the chemo and the physical therapy, it just wouldn't be worth going to school. So he learns at home. It's almost better, except he misses Foggy, and even Brett a little bit. And maybe Marci. Not that he'd tell Foggy that.

Foggy still comes over every day after school, but it's not the same.

He never thought he'd miss it, miss the noise and the chaos, but he does. He really does.

 

His leg is healing. The bone they had to take out because it was filled with cancer was replaced with metal. He's pretty much a cyborg now. But like the doctors told him, it takes time for everything to heal and for the swelling to stop and the bone to sort of get used to being attached to metal instead of other bone. The knee brace he'd been made to wear since the surgery, anytime he wanted to do anything besides rehab (which, ew) could finally be removed for longer periods. He was done with crutches, since apparently they'd glued his knee together or something? That was a relief, because balancing crutches and a cane was pretty much impossible, and he'd run into far too many things.

 

Physical therapy was still a daily thing, even if it didn't involve professionals coming to the house or going to the hospital for it. He had exercises he'd been taught and was supposed to do each day. He kind of liked them, liked the routine, despite the pain they caused. Some pain was good though, he figured, it meant he was still alive and healing. He'd do them in the morning, and meditate afterwards. Schoolwork took up most of the afternoon, and Foggy would come over most days after school. Then he would catch up Matt on everything that happened that day.

 

One of those days, Foggy brings up the face touching thing again.

“So... you really don't know what I look like, do you?”

Matt shakes his head. By then, all his hair has fallen out, and December is kind of cold to go around while bald, so he's wrapped up with a sort of bandanna thing that his dad found among his boxing gear.

“Do you... I don't know, want to? Like, touch my face or whatever,” Foggy suggests. “I mean, if you want. You don't have to.”

“No,” Matt interrupts. “That sounds... good. I'd like to know what you look like.”

Foggy shifts closer to him on the couch. Matt can hear his dad upstairs in his bedroom. They should have enough time without his dad walking in and making them both uncomfortable.

“Here, how about I...” Foggy says, lifting Matt's hands up and placing them on his face.

He giggles, and Matt feels the vibrations. “What?”

Foggy shakes his head. “It just tickles, that's all. Go on.”

 

“What are you boys doing?”

Matt skips back across the couch, leaving a good foot in between the two of them.

“I was just... I wanted to know what Foggy looks like.”

He's pretty sure his dad frowns at that. “You haven't done it already?”

Matt blushes. “No?”

He waves a hand. “Carry on then. I won't interrupt.”

“Too late,” Matt whispers. The moment is gone.

Foggy seems to sense it too. “Maybe later,” he says.

Yes, maybe. Matt hopes that there is a time when he can map out the face of his best friend, not with his senses, but with his hands.

 


	4. And the complications you could do without

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> handwavey underage stuff, but not really? kissing.

Matt has finished his first round of chemo when he starts to cough up blood.

He's not sure at first, because he can't see it, obviously, but there's no mistaking the taste or scent.

He doesn't want to tell his father.

 

But he does.

 

 

* * *

 

 

His head is cold when he goes for the chest x-ray, and then a CT scan of his chest. Hospitals are always cold, Matt has learned, and he never realized how much of a different hair made until he didn't have any.

 

Or maybe the underlying chill is from the ominous tone that settles around Matt as he goes through the tests, and he and his dad sit in the doctor's office, waiting for the verdict.

Matt knows what it will be, and can hear his dad's heart racing. He only wishes he could spare his dad, even though he knows how ridiculous that sounds.

 

“The hemoptysis that Matthew has been experiencing is indicative of a metastatic tumour, likely in his lungs. The chest x-ray and CT scan both show evidence of metastasis, which confirms our suspicions.”

Matt is pretty sure he understands what that means, despite all the big words.

“Use English, please,” his dad sighs. He's tired and confused and Matt doesn't want him to hear this.

“Because Matthew has been coughing up blood, we suspected the cancer might have spread to his lungs, which is what the scans showed. The cancer has spread to his lungs.”

“Why? Wasn't the chemo supposed to kill all the cells that were left over after the surgery?”

“It only takes one abnormal cell to migrate and form a tumour elsewhere in the body. Your son's primary tumour has responded well to the chemotherapy, but it's still possible for cancer to metastasize, even if the tumour is small.”

His father sits back and sighs, defeated. “So what do we do now?”

“The tumours in Matthew's lung are localized to a small area, so they should be easy to remove. Chemotherapy should take care of the rest, and we could also look into radiation therapy if the response isn't strong enough.”

“You're going to take out part of my lung?” Matt asks, because that's the part that sticks in his mind.

“It's only a small portion,” the doctor assures him. “Many people live without lobes of their lung with no issues whatsoever.”

 

After that, details about the surgery are gone over, a date is set, and more chemo is planned. Matt tunes most of it out, too busy thinking about the thing in his chest that is going to be removed, along with part of him. It seems so much more intimate than when he had surgery on his leg.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They get home late in the afternoon, and Foggy shows up not long after, apparently finished his homework. Matt thinks he's lying.

Matt's curled up on his bed and Foggy is sprawled on the floor when he asks.

“So, how was your doctor appointment? Did you get the hot nurse? And don't tell me you can't tell, because I know you can.”

Matt shakes his head, working up the courage to tell his friend.

“It's in my lungs Foggy.”

Foggy stops moving, breathing. For a second, Matt thinks he might have stopped existing.

“What,” he says finally.

“The cancer is in my lungs.”

“But, they took it out. They gave you drugs to kill it. It was in your leg how did it get there?” He sounds desperate, and Matt can't blame him.

“It just takes a few cells to survive. Just a few.”

Foggy collapses onto the bed next to him. “So what? Surgery? More chemo? Drugs? What are they going to do?”

“Surgery first. They're going to take out the tumours in my lungs. Then more chemo. Maybe radiation too.”

“Isn't that what caused this in the first place?”

Matt laughs. “Maybe. Not that anyone will admit it.” He shrugs. “The surgery is in two weeks, just at the start of the new year.”

“Typical,” Foggy sighs. “That's when we're starting the dance unit in gym. You just really didn't want to be stuck with me as your partner, did you?”

Matt would not have minded that at all. He doesn't tell Foggy that, and laughs instead. “You found out my secret.”

“Now you're just using cancer as an excuse,” Foggy says.

They both laugh after a minute, and Matt can hear Foggy is relieved.

 

“I'm going to lose my hair again,” Matt sighs, rubbing at the fuzz on his head. It was maybe an inch long at most, and he'd been growing it for a month.

Foggy pats his hair. “I think I like it short.”

“Short maybe, but not bald,” Matt huffs.

“I'm sure my grandma could make you an ugly hat to wear. Or one that you don't know is ugly, so you wear it everywhere, and then everyone laughs at it because it's so awful.”

Matt considers it. “Something red?”

“She could definitely do that,” Foggy agrees. He sounds so sincere that Matt wants to hold him and never let go.

Or kiss him.

Matt inches closer to Foggy. If cancer is going to kill him, then at least he's going to die having kissed Foggy Nelson.

 

“What are you doing?” Foggy asks. His heart sounds nervous, but it could be a good nervous. An excited nervous. That's how Matt's heart sounds.

 _Possibly making a mistake,_ Matt thinks. “Trying something,” he says, leaning closer. He's not actually sure he'll be able to do it though, and that's when Foggy speaks up.

“Do you...” he blushes. “Do you want to kiss me?”

“Yes,” Matt breathes. He places his hands on the sides of Foggy's head, because he thinks he might miss otherwise from sheer nervousness. He's still terrified he'll miss Foggy's lips.

He doesn't though. Neither of them miss and it's not awful and they don't bang their heads together. Matt's lips are dry and Foggy's aren't and he smells just like everything that makes him _him_ and Matt's not sure how that makes sense but it just does.

 

They break apart.

 

“I'm-” “That's-”

“You first.”

Matt blushes. He shakes his head.

“Well, I thought it was pretty good,” Foggy declares. “Any objections?”

Matt shakes his head again, grinning.

“See, we're gonna make damn good lawyers.”

Matt beams.

 

When Foggy goes home, Matt can't help but think about him the rest of the night, the way his lips felt, how he was so warm, how Matt wanted to sit with him and never leave.

He's pretty sure he has a stupid grin on his face the whole evening.

 

It's only later that the guilt starts to eat away at him, somewhere deep in his gut.

_You shall not lie with mankind as with womankind. It is abomination._

 

But... what about kissing? Matt was pretty sure the bible didn't say anything about kissing other men. Surely that wasn't terrible.

But what if he wanted to do more. If he wanted to kiss Foggy again, sleep in the same bed with him so that he wouldn't feel alone at night. Do _more._

Matt had the feeling God wouldn't like that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I want to go to confession.”

Matt's dad is quiet for a minute, but his heart is racing.

“Matty, you're not going to die. Is that what you're worried about?”

“No,” Matt lies. It's part of it, obviously. “I just think... going to church would be nice.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Matt can tell he's not entirely convinced.

 

But they go.

 

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been four months since my last confession. I think... I think I'm going to die soon Father. And I have some... questions I guess. And sins of course,” Matt adds. He winces. “I... kissed another boy. And it's more than that,” he continues, hurrying before the man can grow angry with him. “I think I might... love him. As more than a friend. So if I'm going to die soon, I just want to know what's going to happen. If God is going to punish me for this.”

The priest is quiet for a moment.

“Have you heard the story of David and Jonathan?”

“No,” Matt whispers.

“1 Samuel tells of the story where David and Jonathan meet. It says 'the soul of Jonathan was bound to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.' In 2 Samuel, David finds out that Jonathan has died, and at his funeral says 'your love to me was extraordinary, surpassing the love of women.' God loves all his children. He loves you just as he loved David and Jonathan. Love is not a sin, child. Do you have anything else you'd like to confess?”

Matt shakes his head. “No. Well. I've lied to my father.”

The priest sighs. “You will be fine. Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. For your penance, pray one Hail Mary. Would you like to make an Act of Contrition?”

Matt shakes his head. “I don't think I know the right one.”

“It's alright child. I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen.”

“Go in peace.”

“Thanks be to God,” Matt mumbles.

He grabs his cane and shuffles out.

 

“All done?” his dad asks.

Matt nods.

 

He prays that night and wonders the whole time if the priest is right, or if he just wanted to comfort a boy who might die soon.

Wouldn't that be a sin in itself?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka that one time I actually read bible verses.  
> ps- that one line is definitely taken out of context all the time, so.


	5. With your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied

The next surgery is scheduled for the new year, and Christmas at the Murdock household is somewhat somber that year. Foggy comes over on Christmas day, after Matt and his dad exchange presents.

Matt gets the first Harry Potter book in braille, which he hadn't expected, since the book was pretty new, and braille was so expensive.

 

Matt gives his father the Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots Game, and a card that has written text and braille. He'd taken care with the writing, making sure to press hard enough that he could feel the indent of the letter with his finger so he could make sure it was legible. The braille was much easier.

 

Matt's father hugged him and made bacon for breakfast, something that they only got for special occasions, and poured Matt real orange juice.

 

It was perfect.

 

Foggy comes over in the afternoon, smelling of evergreen and cinnamon and nutmeg.

“Good Christmas?” he asks. Matt knows he's looking around, probably at the lack of decorations, and their sore excuse for a Christmas tree. But decorations don't matter much to him, so his dad didn't really go for them. He did get a real tree, albeit a small one, so Matt could smell the evergreen.

 

“Yeah,” Matt says honestly. “It is.”

 

Foggy gives Matt a scarf that he made himself, and Matt can trace the errors, where Foggy dropped a stitch, mixed the threads, pulled two stitches together. “It had character,” Matt announces, and drapes it around his neck.

He passes Foggy his present, which is an intricate bracelet made out of discarded paper, and took him a long time without sight. It would take anyone a while even if they could see, and doing it by touch only made it more complicated.

 

Foggy didn't take it off all day, or any of the other times he came over to visit.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the new year, there's more surgery and the fog after that one isn't as disorienting as the first time was.

He doesn't forget that he's blind, but he also doesn't have to worry about missing a limb, so that might be the payoff.

 

Apparently they got most of the tumour out of his lung. Matt hears the unspoken words behind 'most'. Most means not all. Most means there are still cancer cells, waiting in hiding to recolonize his lung as soon as the surgeon's back is turned.

 

He starts chemotherapy again, and it's just as awful the second time. His hair falls out, and he mourns the minimal progress that he made.

Foggy is true to his word and gives him a hat made by his grandmother. Foggy tells him it's red, and Matt can feel bumps on the top. Like horns.

Foggy denies it.

 

Matt kisses him as a thank you and doesn't even care that he's immunocompromised.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's not long after that when Matt figures out the surgery, the chemo, everything, isn't working like it's supposed to.

 

Matt knows he's dying. He can tell. He can hear the sounds in his chest, the sounds that aren't supposed to be there. Sometimes when it's very quiet and he's lying in bed at night, he thinks he can even hear the tumours growing, shifting, pressing against parts of his lungs and slowly killing them.

He's heard the hushed conversations his dad has had with doctors, because no matter how loud his breathing is, his hearing can always pick out bad news.

 

He wonders when they're going to tell him. He's almost 14; he can take it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's at the next doctor appointment.

 

His doctor is nice about it, speaks softly, explains about blood tests and x-rays and CT scans. Explains options and timelines and how exactly it will happen. The tumours (yes, plural, because they've become more than one) in his chest will grow and interfere with his breathing. He'll likely die of an infection in what's left of his lung tissue and will slowly suffocate.

It sounds awful.

 

The whole time, Matt doesn't say anything. His father is sitting next to him, growing more tense by the second, and Matt is afraid he's going to punch something. Or someone.

 

Matt supposes if they're finally telling him, his father must have accepted it as truth.

That part scares him more than the cancer he knows is growing inside his chest.

 

“ _Murdocks always get up,”_ his father kept telling him. Always told him, from the time he could remember anything.

But Matt wouldn't be getting up from this. He was going to get knocked out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Matt doesn't want to die in the hospital. Thankfully they have insurance that covers hospice care, so Matt goes home to die.

 

It still sounds weird, even just thinking about it. He was going to die. Soon.

 

Matt worried a bit that his dad didn't want to think about hospice care, that it felt too much like giving up. _He's not supposed to give up._

 

He hates his body for the betrayal. He thinks about making the surgeons take every bit of cancer out, no matter how small, take everything that cancer could have maybe touched, no matter how important it might be.

(People could survive with only one lung, couldn't they?)

There were days he wanted to pull out the cancer with his own fingers, to scream that it was not supposed to be a part of him, it was not supposed to be this way, why did it have to be this way.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn't take long for everything to get set up with hospice care, which Matt supposes is good, because he is dying after all. His death was hardly going to wait until there was an opening for him.

 

There would be a couple of nurses, a social worker, a chaplain, and a case worker who would visit him regularly. As his condition declined, more support workers could come in to help his dad take care of him. Matt isn't looking forward to that. He hopes it won't be humiliating. He's had enough of that already.

 

Although he supposes death just can't be dignified, no matter how hard people might try to make it.

 

At least his hair should have time enough to grow back at least a bit. He's definitely keeping the hat though.

Maybe if he can't make death dignified, he'll at least make it on his own terms- wearing a ridiculous hat with his best friend by his side.

(He hopes Foggy will be at his side, but wonders if it's too much to ask of anyone.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could apologize for how sad this chapter is, but instead I'm going to say that I'm actually learning a lot in my cancer bio class that would have been helpful for this fic, so too bad I wrote it already. Shrug.


	6. In the morning, at the top of the stairs

One Friday night, Foggy comes over after school with a family size bag of chips and three movies that he swears Matt has to see. “Or... you know.”

Matt knows.

 

They make pizzas for dinner, and one of Matt's nurses stops by around six to check how he's doing. He's just on oral painkillers, and actually had some energy that day, so he lets her check his vitals and tells her he's had a good day.

 

It's still a stark reminder that Matt is dying, and it kind of dulls the excitement they'd had going earlier.

 

Foggy sets up the movie in Matt's room, and squishes on the bed beside him.

“Your nurse is hot,” Foggy says reluctantly, in an attempt to lighten the mood, Matt suspects. It's kind of a fruitless effort.

Matt laughs. “She's 43 and married. You don't need to lie to me.”

Foggy shrugs. “Trying to cheer you up?” he offers.

Matt shakes his head. “You don't need to do anything more than be here to cheer me up.”

He can tell that Foggy's blushing. “Shut up,” he mutters.

Matt grins. “Make me,” he dares.

Foggy leans in and kisses him, just a peck, but it's enough to make Matt's heart race and his face flush as well. He grins wider.

“Hmm,” Foggy hums. “Effective.”

Matt blushes even harder.

By now he knows every curve of Foggy's face. They have spent hours lying in the dark, facing towards each other, feeling how the other looks. At first it was just Matt, but then Foggy wanted to know what it was like, so he turned the lights out and felt Matt's face, tenderly, delicately, like it was the most precious and breakable thing in the world.

Matt only hoped he did the same to Foggy.

 

They stay up late that night, watching one of the movies Foggy brought. Well, Foggy watches and whispers to Matt what's happening on the screen. Matt falls asleep somewhere around the bit with the whale, but Foggy still whispers to him.

Foggy falls asleep next to him.

 

When Matt wakes up, Foggy is still there, snoring softly.

Matt thinks it might be the most beautiful thing. But he can hear his dad moving around downstairs, so he slips out from under the blankets and trails his fingers along the wall to the kitchen.

 

“Hey Matty. Sleep well?” his dad greets.

Matt nods. “Do I smell pancakes?” he asks. “With blueberries.”

“Aw, I can never surprise you,” his dad huffs.

Matt grins. “Is there enough for sharing? Foggy stayed over last night. I guess we both fell asleep.”

His dad stills. “Really?” he asks carefully. “Why didn't you let me know? I could have made up the couch.”

“Because we fell asleep,” Matt repeats.

His father is quiet again.

“I'll go see if he's awake,” Matt says instead, and slips back upstairs. He knows Foggy isn't awake, can hear how his breaths are deep and even. But he can't stand to spend anymore time in the suffocating silence. He also can't stand to hear what his dad might say.

 

He jumps onto his bed instead, aiming away from Foggy just in case he was to get an elbow to the face, and bounces a few times. Foggy groans and stirs at his side.

“Good morning sunshine,” Matt greets him.

Foggy groans again. “What time is it?”

Matt shrugs. “How should I know. My dad is making pancakes. He also... He also seems a bit... upset that you stayed over.”

Foggy sits up a little bit at that. “Does he know-”

“No,” Matt shakes his head. “I might, he might wonder, but...”

“Okay,” Foggy replies, brushing his hair aside and out of his face.

Matt wonders what colour his hair is. He bets it looks like straw or spun gold. Maybe he'll ask, but not now.

“You should probably get up,” Matt says instead. “Otherwise he will eat all the pancakes.”

Foggy stretches, a full body thing that reminds Matt of a cat.

“I'm up,” he says. “I'm definitely up.”

“You're awake, not up. There's a difference,” Matt tells him.

“Murdock for the defense,” Foggy mutters into the pillow, but drags his lazy butt out of bed and down to the kitchen, where he devours a plate of pancakes, and Matt struggles to eat two before the nausea wins.

 

“Next movie tomorrow?” Foggy asks as he's leaving.

Matt has no idea how the last one ended, or that it was even part of a series, but of course he agrees.

“Sure,” he says, smiling. “Anything.”

 

 


	7. And you told me you were scared

As Matt grows weaker, as the pain increases and the good days become a thing of the past, the nursing visits become more frequent. He moves into what was the living room, and the hospice provides a hospital bed for him so he's more comfortable. He hates it, the way it smells, the way he can never forget he's dying.

But his father seems happy, in a sad sort of way, so Matt doesn't say anything.

 

And Foggy likes pressing the buttons to make it go up and down, so that's a point in its favour.

The only point, really.

 

The living room also gets a lot of sunlight, and even though Matt can't see it, he can feel the warmth on his skin. On better days, his favourite thing is to curl up on the couch in front of the biggest window, with the sun at his back, and a book in his hands.

That's usually where Foggy finds him after school.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The hospice that is associated with Matt's hospital has a number of chaplains, and the one that comes to visit Matt is from a church in his neighbourhood, although not one that he's been to. But he and his father hadn't been to church much recently, not since he'd lost his sight and been diagnosed with cancer. Those years hadn't exactly been filled with faith.

 

Still, the chaplain seems nice. He says that Matt can call him Father Lantom. He's not like the priests Matt remembers, at some of the services his grandmother took him to before she died. They were loud and full of righteousness. But he also isn't like the priest he spoke to only weeks ago when he went to confession, quiet and understanding and full of mystery.

He makes Matt think and tried to offer him coffee once, before he remembered that he was in Matt's house, that Matt was still a child, and that he was dying.

It kind of makes Matt like him more.

 

He comes over weekly at first, then more frequently as Matt's health declines.

 

They don't talk about anything specific, but sometimes Matt will tell him about what he's been thinking about, his fear and anger and guilt, or how he's been coping with the pain, and sometimes Father Lantom will bring a bible and read him passages, or read him something that he found that he thought Matt would like. When he finds out Matt loves Thurgood Marshall, he comes back the next week with his book, and reads Matt passages until he falls asleep.

 

It's nice, and it gives his dad a break from being the only one Matt has to talk to besides Foggy. And Matt tells him things he doesn't want to share with his father, like his fear and the worry about being too much of a burden. He always makes sure his father is out of earshot before sharing those things though, because the last thing he wants is to stress his father further.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They start to have a routine. Foggy comes over after school nearly every day, and all day Saturday. During the day, Matt and his father try to keep busy, and Matt sleeps nearly every afternoon. That way he has enough energy to stay awake through Foggy's visit.

Foggy stays for dinner and leaves when Matt falls asleep, or sometimes stays over. They live close enough to the school that it's not a big issue, although Matt's dad sometimes seems a bit disappointed about it, like Foggy should have other priorities than his dying best friend. Matt thinks that too, but could never say it, because he isn't sure he could make it through the days without the promise of Foggy's visits.

 

Matt sleeps longer each day, and takes more pills each week, and he doesn't think he'll live to feel the flowers press through the earth in search of the sun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if anyone is following me on tumblr, you might have seen that I've made posters of quotes for every chapter of this fic. I think I might post them when the fic is all said and done, or I could do chapter by chapter. If anyone has opinions on that, let me know.


	8. But nothing ever happens

Matt thought he was through being angry, but one afternoon, when he's tired and the pain is bad and he's too nauseous to eat, and Father Lantom comes over and asks him how he's doing, Matt throws the nearest item, which turns out to be his Harry Potter book.

 

“Matthew, what's the matter?” Father Lantom asks, pulling a chair up and sitting. He doesn't pressure Matt, doesn't push for more, he's just there.

“I don't know,” Matt admits. “Nothing, and everything. Today's a bad pain day so I haven't slept well, and I haven't been able to eat, and I was trying to read my book and I couldn't keep my mind on it, and everything just sort of hit me at once.” He takes a breath. “It's a series you know, and I'm never going to find out how it ends. So even if I finish this book, there are so many other books that I'm never going to be able to read. There is so much that's going to happen after I'm gone, and I know that sounds stupid, and I thought I was done being angry, but I'm just not.”

Father Lantom is silent for a minute, only the steady beat of his heart to keep Matt company, and Matt wonders if he's going to tell Matt to pray for forgiveness or something.

 

“You're allowed to be angry,” he says finally. “I think it's making you even angrier because you are angry, against your own wishes. It's okay to be angry. There is no correct way to grieve.”

“I'm not grieving,” Matt mutters.

“Ah, but that's where you're wrong. You are dying Matthew, and you are grieving the loss of a life that could be. You had plans and hopes and dreams, and now none of them can be. Anyone would be angry about that.”

It sparks something inside Matt, and the anger flares before it fades and turns to something tearing within him.

He doesn't even register the tears on his cheeks until Father Lantom tucks a tissue into his hand.

He wipes at his face. His glasses have largely been tossed aside for the past few days, with the amount he sleeps, it's just not worth putting them on.

Father Lantom rests a hand on his shoulder. “It's alright Matthew. These are the stages of grief. There's nothing wrong with them, and there is nothing wrong with you for feeling them, even if you thought you had come to terms with your illness.”

“Yeah,” Matt sighs. “I know that, and I'm sorry, it's just been a bad day, and I'm tired and everything sort of...” he waves his hand.

“You don't have to apologize. This is what I'm here for.”

“I love Foggy,” Matt blurts out, instead of saying one of the other things, any of the other things on his mind.

Father Lantom's heart doesn't even stutter. He has met Foggy, more than once.

“Yes, you do, don't you,” he agrees.

Matt frowns.

“Are you sure you know which kind of love I mean? It's not like, brotherly love or that familial love we talked about not that long ago.”

He can hear the smile. “Of course I do. It's not difficult to spot, even knowing as little about your relationship as I do. He looks at you like you are something precious.”

Matt blushes. “Is it really that obvious?” he mumbles.

“Yes.”

“Are you're not going to tell me to pray or repent or something?”

“Of course not. The position of the Catholic church may be somewhat... unclear and less than welcoming on the topic, but I've made my position well known before. The bible says much more about promoting love than it does about forbidding it.”

A few more tears might leak out, but Matt blames it on the pain rather than his emotions.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Think nothing of it. Would you like to pray together?”

Matt nods, and Father Lantom takes his hands, and together they bow their heads.

“Almighty Father, Thank you for your love, grace and mercy. I pray that Matthew's discomforts will turn to comforts, his pains to gains, his deprivation to more blessings, his losses to profits, his tear to smiles, his sorrows to pleasures, his illness to wellness, his debts to credits and his dreams to realities.”

 

Matt drifts off to Father Lantom's soothing murmurations.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A few days later, his medication is changed from an oral painkiller to an intravenous one. He's set up with a morphine pump and a button he can push to deliver additional doses.

 

It's nice, because the pain had been getting worse in the last couple of days, to the point where the oral drugs barely seemed to touch it. Matt knows it hurt his dad to see him like that.

But he also knows it's just a sign of how much closer to the end he's getting.

 

There's more equipment piled in his room now, tucked away in the corners where he won't bump into it if he gets up and wanders around without his cane. It can't hide the fact that it's there. There's an oxygen cylinder, and he wonders just how long it will be until it comes to that, as the cancer grows and presses into his lungs that have already been compromised by the surgery.

He already gets short of breath just going to the washroom, only a few feet from his bed. He wonders how long it will takes until he starts to hunger for air while doing nothing but resting, when it will wake him from sleep and dreams of suffocating in the dark abyss of outer space.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Matt's pretty sure his dad knows about him and Foggy. And he seems to be... okay with it. Or at least as okay as he could be with a dying son who is in love with his best friend.

Matt's surprisingly okay with it too.

 

Foggy stays over some nights, and his dad doesn't question it anymore, just makes sure that the couch in Matt's new room has pillows and blankets, and if he wakes up in the morning to find them both wrapped up in the same bed, he doesn't say anything, just goes to the kitchen and makes waffles or pancakes or smoothies or whatever Matt has been able to keep down the past few days.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you haven't noticed, I have indeed started posting the quote posters along with the chapters, and they are the next fic in the series, if you're interesting in checking them out.


	9. On the floor at the great divide

The next time the nurse visits, she pauses after checking Matt's vitals. “Your oxygen is low hon. Are you feeling short of breath?”

Matt hesitates. He knows what admitting it will mean. “Yeah,” he says.

“It's something that we knew was probably going to come, you remember that?” she says gently.

Matt nods. He knows that. He was just of hoping it wouldn't, that something else would happen first. He's not sure what he was hoping for. Sudden death or remission would both do, he supposed.

 

(When did his sense of humour get so macabre?)

 

She doesn't do anything about it at that visit, because Matt says he's still okay, but a few days later she hook him up to the tank, and he can't deny it makes him feel better.

Foggy tries to hide his shock, and if Matt couldn't hear his heartbeat, he would be convinced.

“I'm 50% more cyborg,” Matt tells him instead, and Foggy laughs.

Honestly, that's what it's come to these days.

 

His oxygen demand increases slowly as the days go by, and it switches to him sleeping more hours than he's awake. The pain medication is increased, and along with it, the mental fuzziness that he hates. But he can't deny that he needs it. He hates needing it.

 

He starts losing track of days, of time passing, of when people arrive and leave. He becomes aware of more tubes, one in his nose to feed him, another in his arm for medication along with the morphine.

 

Often he wakes to someone reading to him, whether it's Father Lantom reading scripture or passages about Thurgood Marshall, or his dad reading him the rest of Harry Potter. Sometimes it's even Foggy, reading him homework assignment, things he's written, newspaper articles. It's nice, and the voices are soothing, and he clings to them as much as he can with a weak grip.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Days for Matt now are largely fuzzy. People drift in and out and the pain fades and grows, but never becomes unbearable. There is a revolving cast of people; his father is almost always present, and Foggy is there almost as frequently. Others are recurring, like the nurses and PSWs who he can't place with their names anymore. There are guest stars too, like Brett on one occasion, even though Matt knew he was terrified to come see him. He understood that. He'd be terrified too.

There are probably others, but the memories slip through his fingers, much like everything else does these days, and before he can even ask or mention it, he drifts off again.

 

It's not as bad as he expected, dying.

 

 

* * *

 

 

(But then, dying is never as hard as living is.)

 


	10. And the cardinal hits the window

Matt dies just before sunrise on the first Monday in March. His father is there and so is his best friend. He's not in pain, he doesn't struggle, he just breathes out and... doesn't breathe back in.

 

Foggy's eyes spill over with tears and the world threatens to close in on him, but he gets past it.

Jack clutches Matt's hand and says his first prayer in years, under his breath, but loud enough that if Matt were still breathing, he could have heard it.

Foggy is holding Matt's other hand and presses a kiss to it, before stumbling out of the room into the nearby bathroom and collapsing on the floor, chest heaving. He feels like he can't breathe, like there is no air left, and thinks he might be dying too.

 

God, that's so dramatic of him, he thinks.

But he also thinks it might be preferable.

 

He thinks it might be an eternity before he catches his breath and manages to stop the gross heaving and sobbing. He's worn out, empty, salt lines down his face that he can practically taste.

He leans back, head against the cool tile, and looks up at the window. The sun has risen.

Life has gone on.

 

There's a bright streak of red and a thump against the window. A bird. How could there be a bird in the middle of Hell's Kitchen, flying into a window?

Foggy doesn't know. Maybe it was blind. Jesus, that would just be perfect.

 

He wonders if Matt would find that funny for a split second, before he remembers. He supposes he'll be doing a lot of that for a while.

 

The tears start anew and he's left with blurry vision as he wills them to stop.

It doesn't work.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He spends so long in the bathroom that he starts to wonder what's happening outside, if Jack will come get him, kick him out at some point. Maybe Jack has forgotten that he was there. And then there's his parents. He was supposed to let them know... well. Anything. Everything. But he didn't think he could manage picking up a phone, let alone speaking without the floodgates opening again, and he can't do that, he just can't.

 

He twirls the bracelet on his wrist and wills himself to wake up, that this was only a bad dream.

But it isn't.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When he finally leaves the bathroom, he thinks Matt is breathing, that it was all a mistake.

He's wrong though.

 

A priest or someone is there, whispering prayers over Matt's body, and Foggy wants to yell that it's too late for God to do anything.

It's too late for anyone to do anything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I did cry while writing this.


	11. And he takes and he takes and he takes

Matt's funeral is only a few days later. He had a lot of say in how he wanted it to go, and it's simple, with not many people. The service is given by a pastor who came to visit Matt a lot when he was dying, and Foggy remembers him. Remembers that he likes him. He weaves Thurgood Marshall quotes into the eulogy, and Foggy tears up at that, because he knows just how happy it would make Matt.

 

Religion seemed to comfort Matt a lot when he was dying, and Foggy respected that, even if he sometimes wanted to ask Matt why he could believe in a God that had blinded him and given him cancer.

But he also didn't want to take that away from Matt, if his grasp on his faith was tenuous at best. Foggy didn't know, he wasn't there most of the time when Matt was speaking to the pastor. They met, briefly, but that was it.

 

Foggy wasn't very religious, hadn't grown up going to church like Matt had. Although according to Matt, his grandmother was the one who took him to church more often before she died, and she was the real Catholic. Whatever that meant. Matt's dad took him to church sometimes after her death, but more on special occasions, like Easter and Christmas.

And now, Foggy's not sure he can ever be religious, not after everything that happened with Matt. Not only his death, but his suffering. Foggy was there in his final days, and at the very end. Matt was on five kinds of painkillers and totally out of it, but still in pain. That was what Foggy hated most.

He's not sure there's room in his world for a God like that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Foggy has to learn to live a life that no longer has his best friend in it. He knew it would be hard, but he just never knew how hard. All that time, he kind of hoped Matt wouldn't die, that it was a mistake or elaborate prank or that he would just start to get better. It didn't happen.

 

He goes back to school, and no one seems to know what to do with him. Brett talks to him sometimes, and Foggy is pretty sure it's just because his mom tells him to. Marci is surprisingly insightful, and is there sometimes when Foggy needs a shoulder, whether it's to cry on or just lean on, and she always makes sure to follow it up with a comment about how he ruined her sweater or something, and Foggy is infinitely grateful for that. For the imitation of normalcy.

 

It hurts and it hurts and it hurts and it keeps on hurting, but one day Foggy wakes up and realizes he hasn't cried for about a week, and he's ashamed of that, like it means he's forgetting.

The therapist his parents decided was a great idea tells him that it doesn't mean he's forgetting, it just means he's grieving. And grieving is good.

Foggy is skeptical.

 

And it still hurts, every single day, but it's less, not as much of a knife in his chest and more of a... crushing feeling.

 

He doesn't tell anyone that he loved Matt. He doesn't tell anyone that he still does, and always will. Death can't take away the way he feels about a person.

 

Foggy graduates grade eight, and then high school, then college, then law school, and he thinks about Matt every day, when he's posing for his graduation picture, when he applies to Columbia, when he writes the bar.

 

He thinks about Matt every day, and about how maybe he isn't in a better place, because he's still not sure if one exists, but at least he's not suffering in this place. He hopes that there is some better place, beyond the pain that Matt experienced in this world, even if he can't believe in one. He thinks about how Matt would have grown, the same smile on an older face, a different pair of glasses when he outgrew the first ones. About how his hair would have grown back in, but he would have kept the hat Foggy gave him forever.

He thinks about going to high school together, getting drunk for the first time together, picking the same colleges, studying for the bar together. He thinks about setting up a law practice together.

Murdock and Nelson.

Matt would tell him Nelson and Murdock sounded better, and Foggy couldn't argue with that.

He thinks about a life together, one where they could hold hands and sleep in the same bed, and maybe even one day, get married. He thinks about when he was thirteen years old and he kissed his best friend and realized what love was, thinks about when he was thirteen years old and his best friend, the only person he'd ever kissed, ever loved, had died.

 

He thinks about Matt as he finally puts the sign on the building, fingering the worn bracelet on his wrist, and smiling up at the sky as a bright red cardinal flies by in the bright midday sun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in the last chapter. I suppose I just didn't want it to end.

**Author's Note:**

> There was abundant research that went into writing this fic, including, but not limited to: radiation induced cancer, limb sparing surgery, general cancer knowledge, internal prostheses, Catholic confession, prayers, hospice care, what year the Harry Potter books came out, occurrence of osteosarcoma, and what those guys you confess to are actually called.


End file.
